Hello, Little Girl
by SkullratSG
Summary: Scout meets a little girl in the middle of 2fort. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

"Damn, I hope we win dis one," said the Scout. He turned his head and spit. It landed at the Spy's feet, who gave the glob of saliva a disgusted scowl.

"Perhaps if your head wasn't so full of your own ego, you could 'ear zhe obvious beeping of a sentry," he said dryly, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Keep talkin' and _your_ head'll be all ova' da pavement!" shouted the Scout, waving his metal bat at the Spy like a man waving a newspaper at a misbehaved dog. The Spy said nothing, only blew out swirling clusters of smoke rings.

He hadn't really been on his game lately, and that anxiety caused him to smoke even more than he had before. Soon he'd be seeing his family. They didn't know the true brutality of his job: they didn't know about any transporters or sentries or respawn. For all they knew, he was getting their letters. But the Spy realized after a while that the Administrator burned all letters from home. He wouldn't tell anyone this; he didn't want 2fort to be inspected. Though it was grueling, he wanted to see the end of the war against RED. He was going to see the wimpy little spitfucks fall and he was going to cause it.

"_Mission begins in thirty seconds_," announced the Administrator.

"Jeezus, c'mon! I ain't gettin' any youngah!" whined the Scout once again, stamping his feet. Spy almost told him to shut up, but was interrupted.

"Scout, wouldjya kindly calm yerself down?" pleaded the Engineer. The Scout was rude, but...he felt wrong disrespecting the friendly old Engineer.

"Yeah, whatevah. Sorry." The Scout looked at the ground. He kicked the dust around, stirring it with his foot. The classes around him fell silent, sensing his shame. Most of them, namely the Spy, were glad he was finally realized what an annoying prick he was. But the Sniper felt sorry for the little guy; he was just an excited kid, after all.

"_Mission begins in ten seconds_."

The Scout perked up. He stared at the speaker in anticipation. Why was ten seconds such a long time today?

"_Five._"

The Heavy readied Sasha.

"_Four_."

The Medic prepared his Ubergun.

"_Three_."

The Pyro stroked its flamethrower lovingly.

"_Two_."

The Scout clutched his bat so tight it hurt.

"_One_!"

"Chaaaaaarge!" screamed the Soldier, pumping his meaty fist into the air. Everyone stampeded out, cursing the REDs out and laughing heartily. As the Scout glanced over his bony shoulder, speeding across the desert, he noticed the Spy cloaking himself as soon as the siren announced the beginning of the mission. He simply shrugged it off as strange Spy behavior and kept running towards the Intel.

The Spy watched the Scout from afar, crushing his cigarette under his polished black shoe. He was so obnoxiously fast, just like that Roadrunner from that cartoon. He wouldn't be surprised if the young boy yelled "meep meep, morons!"

He settled down by the Intel. The red case was so dilapidated and old. Pieces of yellowing paper protruded from its edges. They had plenty of nicks and cuts, but they were still legible.

Suddenly a RED Scout entered the Intel room. Spy almost hid, but then remembered he was already cloaked.

"Leavin' da Intel unguarded? Way to go, ya BLU dumbasses," he scoffed, slinging his bat over his shoulder. The Spy knew this Scout was new; the word had spread that the last RED Scout had something go horribly wrong in respawn. He'd been, as the Administrator called it, "relieved of his duties".

The Scout waltzed over to the case and scooped it up into his scrawny arms. The Spy noticed how his skin stretched over his knuckles and elbows so tightly. _Jesus_, he thought, _what a weakling_.

Just as he pivoted around on one heel, the Spy uncloaked. It made a bit of a loud noise, but the Scout's head was so clouded from his own arrogance that he didn't hear it.

The butterfly knife stabbed into his spine with a meaty "thunk". The boy cried out in agony and dropped the suitcase. With no emotion, the Spy picked it back up as the Scout lay sprawled out on the grimy concrete, blood pooling around him.

"You...backstabbin' bastahd!" screeched the Scout, his voice braking.

"It will hurt less eef you don't struggle," admonished the Spy, lighting up another cigarette. He lay the Intel on the splintery oak wood table.

"Shaddup, ya cowahd Frenchie! Fightin' me when I couldn't even see ya! Why don't ya try some real combat for a change?"

"I won, and zhat's zhe important zhing."

"Fuck you!"

"Leesten up, boy. Seence you're new, I'll spare you zhe agony of bleeding to death. And myself zhe agony of leestening to your beetching and moaning." The Frenchman twisted the knife deeper into the boy's back until he was completely silent. His body lay there for about 15 seconds, then faded away. _Good_, thought the Spy, _maybe he'll get through correctly this time_.

The Scout sped through the RED sewers. Fetid waters splashed under his feet, staining his socks.

"Ugh, it smells like Demoman's breath in here," he gagged. He skidded to a halt at the Intel room, sending chunks of feces through the air. Despite literally being in deep shit, the Scout beamed at the sight of the red suitcase. A faded picture of a bomb was printed on it; the RED team's trademark logo.

As he entered, Scout could smell the RED Spy's cheap cigarettes. How stupid he was to smoke in battle, he was supposed to be hidden, for God's sake!

"Don't mind if I do," said the Scout, over-enunciating his words. Just as he was about to curl his fist around the Intel, he paused and looked to his right. The Spy was cloaked, of course, but he was very sure that's where he was.

In one swift move, the Scout swung his bat at the Spy, grabbed the suitcase, and leaped backwards.

"Bonk!" he laughed, running out of the room. The RED Spy lay on the concrete with his skull smashed in. A lit cigarette still protruded from the remains of his jaw, smoke rising from its reddened tip.

"_We have taken the enemy Intelligence_."

The Scout ran down the sewers once again. He was eluding the RED Heavy's bullets, racing down pipelines and hugging the corners.

"I will get stupid baby man!" screamed the Heavy, his mini-gun whirring.

"Today ain't your day, pancakes!" said the Scout. The Heavy roared like a bear of some kind, which, truthfully, scared the living shit out of the Scout. He decided to stop taunting the massive Russian man, as he didn't much feel like getting several hundred bullets to the head today. And besides, he didn't much trust the respawn lately. It had done that unspeakable thing to that BLU Scout. It made Scout shudder just to think about it.

Mid-run, the Scout leaped for the ladder up ahead. The sun from the sewer entrance shined on him like a spotlight. He felt amazing, despite there being chunks of some anonymous man's feces in his hair.

Putting the suitcase's handle on his wrist, he clambered up the ladder. He almost slipped once, and hit his shin on the rugged, rusty rungs of the ladder. It broke his skin, and a trail of dark crimson oozed from the wound. The boy grimaced, but didn't cry out. He wasn't some wussy-crap chucklehead.

So he dived into the burning sunshine. He ran across the featureless dirt. Several times, he was shot at, cursed at, and once he even took some damage from a nearby rocket. But, as he crossed the stone bridge, he was intact and so was the Intel. And that was all that mattered.

Scurrying towards his base, he sprang over a RED stickybomb. The fire licked at his cleats and singed some rubber off the soles, but didn't hurt him. As he continued across the dirt, he saw the BLU base. He had finally reached his destination.

The BLU Spy awaited eagerly, uncloaked, next to their Intel table. With a triumphant "HA!", the Scout slammed the RED Intel onto the table next to his own team's.

"_Success! We have secured the enemy's Intelligence_." said the Administrator. The sounds of REDs cheering all throughout 2fort echoed through the forests of yucca plants and dusty plateaus.

"How's dat for ya, ya filthy baskstabbin' scumbag?" said the Scout. He had meant it playfully, but the Spy almost flinched at the boy's words.

That night, there was a celebration. The Sniper made a vanilla cake, the Demoman provided alcohol, and the Engineer played songs by the fire. Everyone (besides the Pyro, because it refused to eat in front of others) was sitting on ratty old lawn chairs, requesting songs for the Engineer to play.

"Play Freebird!" requested the Demoman, his speech slurred from all the booze.

"I ain't playin' that, it's too long," said the Engineer.

"Aw, c'mon? Haven't you got a lick a talent?"

"Look buddy, I ain't playin' Freebird. Pick somethin' else."

The others either munched on the partly-stale cake or watched them argue. Scout took a sip of a beer, though he didn't really love it. He only did it so the others didn't make fun of him.

He took a bite of cake. It tasted so sweet in his mouth.

"Just like Ma used ta make," he murmured, savoring the sugary icing.

"Huh?" asked the Demoman. "What'd ya say, lad?"

"Er...nothin', man. Just hummin' loudly." The Scout continued chewing his cake. He stared up at the sky. Because there were no streetlights or anything, he could clearly see all the twinkling stars. They were like fireflies stuck in tar, winking down at him. In Boston, he could never see the stars. But he was sure if he came from somewhere like Beeline, Texas, he wouldn't be so amazed by the simple night sky.

Suddenly, he felt his bladder getting full. He set his cake down on his hole-filled lawn chair and headed for the nearest patch of bushes.

"Where ya goin', mate?" asked the Sniper, peering at the Bostonian over his tinted aviator glasses.

"Oh-just goin' ta take a leak, man. I'll be back in a little while." Scout turned his back to the Sniper and went for the bushes. When he reached them, he pulled down his fly and urinated. Relief poured over him.

"Ah, dat's so much bettah," he whispered. After zipping up his fly, he heard rustling in the bushes. He jumped, and his heart skipped a beat. There was a long silence, Scout still in a defensive position. He reached for his bat, and clenched it in his bandaged hands.

"I-is somebody dere?" he asked. He gently prodded the bushes with his bat. Something whimpered. The Scout jumped even higher.

"Is...is dat you, Spy? Dis ain't funny, man. Seriously." He traded his bat for a scatter gun.

Then, a small lump poked out of the bushes. It was...a bird's nest? No, no. It was...hair! A huge, puffy nest of hair!

The hair paused for a second, then rose even higher. Under the dark brown curls and knots, there was a pair of sunken-in, dull green eyes. They flowed into a button nose, which resided above a pair of cracked, frowning lips.

"Whoa...little girl?" asked Scout, lowering his bat. The child was silent for a very long time. The only sound was the crackling of the bonfire behind them and drunken laughter.

"You look like my big brother!" she said, her voice raspy and high-pitched. The Scout raised one thin eyebrow.

"What's a little girl doin' in a war zone?"

"I can't find my mommy. And then...I was lost!" The girl flung her arms in the air, sending some dead leaves fluttering to the ground.

"What's ya name, little girl? We need ta get ya some help."

The girl furrowed her brow. She look at Scout as if he'd just shat out a bucket of worms.

"Not until I find my mommy, dummy head!" With that, she scuttled out of the bushes. Then she disappeared into darkness. The Scout tilted his head to the side.

"Whoa, what da fuck have I been drinkin'?"


	2. Chapter 2

Jarred from his experience, Scout sat back down apprehensively on his lawn chair. The fire had begun to die down, leaving slightly glorified embers stirring in the dark ashes of what used to be firewood. Everyone was drunk, even the Engineer; though he didn't show it much.

The Texan put his guitar down and stared into the sky. He squinted as if trying to decipher something.

"I think it's best we all go ta bed now," he said. "It's 'bout 3 in tha mornin'."

The team, except Scout, gave a collective, exaggerated groan.

"We was just getting' started," griped the Sniper, slinging his beer into the air. Half the contents sloshed out, landing on the dirt in front of him.

"Now look, you're sa drunk ya cain't even hold yer drink correctly," said the Engineer. The Sniper opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

The team, all with variously controlled movement, folded up their chairs and headed inside. Scout hadn't noticed this all night, but the Spy hadn't attended the celebration. He always attended celebrations, even if he just brooded in the corner and smoked.

As he trod down the empty, white halls of each class's room, he stopped at the Spy's. He could hear nothing inside, but the door was slightly open. _That's strange_, he thought, _the Spy always closes his door, no matter what_.

He knocked lightly because he felt socially obligated to, but honestly he didn't want the Spy to know he was there. As the door creaked open just the slightest, Scout peeked in.

The Spy was hunched over something, his back turned. His usual squiggle of smoke trailed from his mouth. It was completely dark in the room, except for the moon casting yellow stripes across the blackened floor. There was something on his head...Scout gasped. It was his hair! Scout could see the Spy's hair!

"Mask!" Scout yelped, dropping his chair. It made no sense, but Scout did it and he didn't know why.

The clanging noise from the metal chair caused the Spy to swivel his head. It was so dark that the Scout couldn't see the Spy's face. However, he did see the whites of his eyes widen and then close. He figured that meant he was hastily stuffing his baklava back on.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said the Scout, jumping back into a defensive position. "I didn't know you had ya mask off, man!"

The Spy stumbled to the light switch and flicked it on. From under the fold of his mask, he gave the Scout a cold glare.

"_Vat_ are you doing 'ere?" he hissed.

"Why weren't ya at the celebration?" asked the Scout.

"It is no concern of yours."

"C'mon man, I won't tell nobody."

"You are but a leetle boy. You do not need to know, for eet is none of your business." With that, the Spy slammed the door. He left the Scout standing at his door in bewilderment.

The Bostonian didn't bother picking up the chair. He simply wandered about the hallway until he found the Engineer's room. He knocked.

"Come on in," rang the warm, Texan accent. Scout had always rather liked that accent; he would have traded it for his own in a heartbeat.

Scout opened the door to reveal Engineer tuning his guitar. He was listening to country music on his radio. As the Scout stepped in, the man turned down the volume.

"What brings you here, Scout?" asked the Engineer, plucking the thickest string on his guitar.

"I came to ask ya some...er, questions," replied the younger man. He couldn't find a chair to sit on, so he uncomfortably settled on the Engineer's bed. There was a knitted, multicolored quilt on it.

"Nice. Where'd ya get the quilt?" he asked.

"My mama made it a long time ago, long before you were born," answered the Engineer. "That wasn't yer question, was it?"

"Ah...nah, man, nah." The Scout fumbled with the stitches on the quilt. Then, he brought himself to look at Engineer.

"Uh...have ya seen da Spy actin'...weird, lately?" he asked.

"Boy howdy, that man's always up to somethin'. I hadn't noticed anything different. Have you?"

"Uh...nah. I was jus' wonderin'."

"M-hm. And yer other question?" The Engineer brought his goggles up from his instrument to look at the Scout. He stopped messing with the strings and it fell silent. The only sound was crickets chirping and the radio giving off a muffled, static-riddled Southern tune.

"Uh...is dere, like, a daycare anywhere around here or somethin'?" The Scout managed. The Engineer furrowed his brow.

"Not...that I know of. I don't believe there's anything within miles a this place."

"Oh, alright. Thanks man." The Scout hurriedly pushed himself off the bed and rushed for the doorknob.

"Scout?"

"...Yeah?"

"Why'd ya ask that?"

The boy paused for a second, only peering at the man with his peripheral vision.

"Ah...I was jus' curious." Scout opened the door and slammed it behind him.

He jogged down the hall until he arrived at his own room. As he opened the door, the scent of rancid socks and grease wafted into his nose. To another, it would have been putrid, but to the Scout it was home sweet home.

He kicked off his shoes. They hit the wall with a loud thunk. Across from his room, the Soldier screamed at the Scout.

"Hey! Some of us are trying to sleep here! Quiet down or I'll go over there and make you!" he warbled. The Scout payed the man no attention, only plopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. In a mixture of exhaustion and drunkenness, the boy drifted into sleep.

**(A/N: I apologize for the very short chapter, but as most fanfiction writers carry on, I've been busy with school and homework and projects and blah, blah, blah.)**


End file.
